Turning towards suffering

In the past, when I've felt uncomfortable, I’ve turned away from the sensation. I would come up with distracting fantasies such as what a wonderful world it would be if only “these” things would happen or dreaming about how awesome life would be if I were somehow able to become better, less socially awkward, etc. This was my refuge from suffering and, as it turns out, life.

The homework from the first “The Four Marks of Existence” class at the Boundless Way Temple / Worcester Zen Center was to notice when suffering arises and to turn towards it, just be with it.

I had the opportunity to practice when I heard that an acquaintance from my childhood had passed. Intellectually, I recognized him but for some reason the news of his passing was more troubling than it would normally otherwise have been for someone that I merely “knew of”. It wasn't until a couple of mornings later that I figured out why. As I was drying off from the shower, I remembered the face of a person who I had briefly worked with and who had been exceptionally kind to me during a very dark time. A time when everyone else, including (perhaps especially) myself was being cruel. As soon as I remembered his face, I realized that this kind person and the person who had passed were one in the same and I was devastated.

As I focused on the uncomfortable feelings this recollection had brought about, I realized how remarkable it was that he could be so kind at that age (16?). Perhaps he was able to be so kind because he saw in me the deep loathing I had for myself and somehow he either identified with it or just had the emotional depth to just be with me and not judge. As I thought more about exactly how he had shown me kindness, I realized that he just treated me like a person, a person who had worth “just because”.

As I thought about this I asked myself “why DO I feel unworthy, unlovable, less than?” Although these questions were uncomfortable, I stayed with the discomfort. After a while it occurred to me to try and remember the last time I didn't feel this way. Quickly I found myself telling the lie “I've always felt this way”. When I sat with the discomfort of that lie I believe I remembered when it started; the day my father abandoned us.

It's my most painful memory. I was four. My mother drove me to the HoJo’s in Natick to drop me off with him for the weekend but he never showed. In an attempt to find out what was going on, we went to the marina in Quincy where my Father docked his houseboat. When we arrived, his boat was gone and I remember a twisting knot forming in my belly as soon as I saw the empty slip. I somehow knew that he wasn't coming back. I think my mother knew too but she asked around anyway and it turned out he'd been gone for a few days. I remember the looks of shock and sadness in their eyes confirming what I already knew.

My heart was broken. As we cried ourselves to sleep that night I kept wondering what I done to make him leave. I asked my mom and she assured me it wasn't something I had done, but I didn't believe her. I remembered all of the times (seemingly continuously in his eyes) that I'd been “naughty” and his seething anger whenever I wouldn't do as he had asked. Over the next few weeks I learned to avoid the memory but what stuck with me was the idea “clearly I'm defective and I need to be better and try harder if I don't want people to leave”.

As I thought about these feelings of loathing even more, I realized that he was always angry and had no patience for me. What was really uncomfortable was the realization that despite my best intentions, sometimes I lost my temper with my kids and treated them the same way he treated me. As I thought back, during these occasions I remember dealing with what was going on in my head and trying to avoid this feeling of unworthiness by holding myself to unreasonable expectations, “if only I could accomplish this, maybe then I'd be worthy of something”. I finally recognized that what they needed from me, attention or just being there, was just not something I had to give during those moments. I was still too busy avoiding the question “what is so wrong with me that my father wanted to leave?”

From my kids point of view I was telling them they were not worthy but that wasn't my intention at all. Then it hit me… Maybe my father acted this way because he was busy avoiding his own feelings of unworthiness? Maybe his departure had even exacerbated these feelings and this was why he never chose to form a relationship with me? Whatever is was, something had happened to him that made him think this was the best choice and that his departure probably had nothing to do with me at all (which is almost harder to accept).

Then I started to wonder "could our inability to face our own suffering be the cause of most the conflict in the world? Does pushing away our own suffering dampen our ability to empathize with others?" For me, the answer turned out to be yes and how I came to this realization is a story for another day.

Namaste!